A Second Shot
by 321girl
Summary: It's been over 10 years since the greatest team London has ever known separated. William Holmes has heard whispers about his father's legendary partner, but Sherlock has stayed adamantly silent. Now, when a shadow follows William, the past is dug up, and Sherlock must face the fateful day when John Watson walked out of his life.
1. Chapter 1

Amelia skittered to a stop at the end of the darkened alleyway. Her piercing sapphire eyes flickered around, categorizing every aspect of her surroundings. No escape. She whirled around to face the assailant casually stalking her, the streetlight behind him painting him into nothing more than an ominous silhouette. She heard the click of his gun as he took aim.

First, the sound of shattering glass to her right. Then, two shots rang out into the still Swedish air. And then Amelia felt a heavy weight topple onto her. She fell to the ground, feeling glass shards embed into her arm. Her head cracked on the cement and a burning light exploded across her vision as she struggled to stay conscious. The coppery scent of blood filled her nostrils and she felt a burst of panic as she struggled into a sitting position, supporting the man who had tackled her, saving her from that bullet. "Oh my god, dad. Are you okay?" she cried.

John Watson grimaced at her, pressing a hand to the bullet wound in his stomach, blood pooling around his fingers.

A strange sense of foreboding overcame Amelia and, acting on instinct, she wrenched the handgun from her father and fired a single shot at the roof of the building overlooking the alleyway. She couldn't have known, but she did, that she had just delivered a death shot to the sniper on the building.

She knelt down in front of John, pulling his hand aside to get a better look at the wound. It was bad. She swallowed once and her medical training kicked in. "We need to get you to a hospital," she said, tearing off her jacket to staunch the flow of blood. Her father gripped her wrist. "No."

Amelia met her father's eyes, confused. John smiled grimly. "There are others, the entire Black Cobra knows about us. There's no where on heaven or earth that we'll be safe now."

Amelia ground her teeth together. "So what. You're just going to die?" She whispered furiously, blinking the tears away. John winked, "I'm going to pull a Sherlock."

_'Have a told you about how Sherlock died and came back to life?' John asked his eight year old daughter. 'No! How'd he do that?' Amelia exclaimed, 'And why did he do that?' She asked after a moment's pause. _

_'Asking all the right questions' John laughed. 'You're so clever, just like your mother.' He looked impossibly devastated for a moment. Amelia curled closer into him, breathing in the smell of her father's jumper. She tried to will all her childish happiness into him. She never told him, because it would make him sad, but she was starting to forget things about her mother, her face, her laugh, her hands. Her mother was starting to become a stranger to her. But John, John was real. He was the one who told her stories about her mother and his best friend, the only consulting detective in the world. The one who took her to the playground and made sure she always had dessert in her lunch bag. The one who always whispered 'I love you' to her when he tucked her in at night. _

_In a tale interwoven with danger and angst, John told little Amelia Watson about the evil Moriarty, how Sherlock faked his death so he could dismantle Moriarty's network and save John, Ms. Hudson and Lestrade. She listened, enraptured, but all too soon began to yawn. John laughed and gently carried Amelia to her bed. 'Dad," mumbled Amelia, 'Where is Sherlock now? Are you still friends?' In her hazy state she missed his answer and promptly forgot about it the next morning. _

Two minutes later, the sound of a rattling shopping cart echoed in the alleyway. Amelia aimed the gun towards the noise, but her father motioned her to relax. Jason, one of the men who were a part of her father's homeless network, trundled into view, pushing a shopping cart with a large black garbage bag in it. John shifted uncomfortably.

"After we killed the leader of the Black Cobra five months ago, the rest of the gang was able to figure out who we were. We've almost gotten killed twenty seven times since then." He growled. Amelia scoffed, "I hardly think the bomb in the car could count as 'almost gotten killed'" she said lightly, "Too cliché and easy to detect." John smiled in amusement.

"Even so, life has gotten too dangerous." John's voice softened "Especially for you, you're almost seventeen. You should be focusing on getting into medical school, not worrying constantly about surviving to see the next day."

"Mundane." Amelia interrupted, as Dave unloaded his cargo. John raised an eyebrow as he continued. "So I've been scrambling to figure out how to "kill ourselves." The bullet wound is inconvenient, but this is what we're going to do…"

Amelia curled into her father like a young child, committing everything to memory: his steady hands, gripping hers tightly, the smell of tea and his aftershave, his warm red-rimmed navy eyes. "I have to leave now." Amelia closed her eyes and shook her head, curling deeper into him. The last few days had past in a blur. Crying over the fake body of her father, attending his funeral, learning that he might as well be dead to her.

_'I'm going to hunt them all down.' John whispered. _

_'And I can't come with you.' Amelia realized. _

_John shook his head. 'Too dangerous, and I won't be able to have any contact with you.' _

_'But you need me,' Amelia cried, 'No one can watch your back like I can! What happens if, if you die?' _

_'Oh my little solider, I can't put you in that sort of danger. And,' John drew in a shuddering breath. 'You have to know that if I die, and I won't lie there is a huge chance I will, you'll never know. I'm going undercover, just as you are. To everyone, John Watson is already dead. Don't spend your life waiting for me.' And with that, Amelia broke down, sobbing into her father's jumper, clinging onto him like she would never et go. She cried and cried, her father tightening his grip on her whispering 'I love you. I'm so sorry' over and over again. _

John pulled away from his daughter. He stroked her face once and stood up, trying to hide the fact that his heart was shattering. Would he ever get to walk her down the aisle at her wedding? Ever get to hold his grandchildren and tell them stories about how Amelia was a crack shot at the age of fourteen? What he wouldn't give to have her by his side. But he knew that this journey would be saturated with violence and he was so worried about how that could affect his daughter. Her addiction to danger and apathetic attitude towards the torturing and death of those who threatened the ones she loved was frightening at times, but her compassion and loyalty was boundless, and he didn't want her to lose that.

Amelia stood up stiffly and embraced her father once more before meeting his eyes and saluting stiffly. "Goodbye, dad."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not my characters blah blah blah

Enjoy!

* * *

3 years later...

Amelia stared at the papers. Lucy Abbington. She traced her finger over the birth certificate, school documents and passport. Sophie had done well fabricating an entire life for her. She sighed and stood up from the dusty kitchen table. Striding over to the bathroom, she stared at the stranger in the bathroom mirror. She had grown out her boyish pixie cut and dyed her feathery blonde hair a rich chestnut brown. With the intense green eyes and heavy makeup she could see nothing of her parents in her face. She hated it. She pulled out the contacts and gazed at her father's navy blue eyes. God, even after three years it still hurt. Straightening her shoulders, she put on a stoic face, _Watsons are good at coping_ she chastised herself, and allowed herself a small flicker of excitement. First day of high school tomorrow she thought, and if all goes well, med school in a year.

William winced at his friend Daniel as they hurried to class. "She slapped you? A bit dramatic don't you think?" Daniel huffed.

William groaned, "It's not like I was cheating on her. At least I was gentlemanly enough to break up with her when she ceased to interest me. Honestly, is it my fault she became so boring?"

"I really hope you didn't say those exact words to her, mate"

"Of course not," William scowled. "I have more social tact than that."

"Hey, at least she lasted a bit longer than the others. Two whole months!"

William glared woefully at his friend, "and that was only because mother insisted on a family vacation to Greece and father insisted on dropping by Sweden, for what reason I don't know. But he was certainly irritable about it for weeks afterwards."

"Had to investigate something for your all powerful uncle?"

"I deduced it was more of a personal affair."

"You and your deducing, come on! We're going to be late for bio." Daniel laughed, dashing down the hallway. "At least we're guaranteed a seat though."

That said seat was taken by a beautiful brunette. Daniel whistled under his breath, "New girl. I get dibs, Will, after all you just broke up with Claire" William rolled his eyes; the girl would end up boring him after a month anyways, and nodded his assent. "But I'm still going to demand my seat back, " he grinned wolfishly. Daniel scowled "Don't scare my future girlfriend away."

Amelia doodled on the cover of her notebook. Damn, the lung dimension was a bit off. She gazed outside as she contemplated her character. Lucy Abbington, the exceptionally smart yet socially awkward foreign girl. A tiny part of her was terrified she'd slip up, but the majority of her reveled in the thrill of keeping up a disguise. Adrenaline junkie, just like her dad. She knew she had the exceptional ability of being able to take on different personas; even her parents weren't able to recognize her when she didn't want them too. She knew she didn't have a single tell when lying and just recently...she had learned just how deadly she could be. "Excuse me, I know you're new here, but unfortunately you're in my seat" Amelia looked up to be confronted by the spitting image of her father's former best friend, Sherlock Holmes.

William looked at the girl. Hunched shoulders, tapping foot, staring out the window to avoid eye contact, typical insecure new girl. Cheap notebook, standard civilian clothes, middle class and unoriginal. Yet the drawing bespoke intelligence, the detail was astounding and everything as perfect, down to the scaling, except for the lung, but he was willing to forgive that. Her eyes widened a fraction when she looked at him and he lowered his voice. "Obviously intelligent, likely you want to attend med school, but shy and socially inept, so the best thing would be for you to sit up front so the teacher will notice you without you having to make the painful effort of showcasing your brilliance" he purred. The girl nodded quickly and almost tumbled out of her seat in her haste to move. "Hey, let me help you." Daniel offered, winking seductively. "I'm Daniel, and this is my friend, William." The girl stared at the ground, and breathed "Lucy". Daniel carried her stuff to the front of the room, chatting away as she followed, docile as a lamb.

Daniel plopped down next to William. "Beautiful and inexperienced, my favourite," he laughed, "What'd you deduce about her, Will?" William rolled his eyes and rattled off his string of deductions. The girl was obviously living alone, missed her parents, passionate about medicine, hoping for a surgical position where human interaction would be minimal. She was exceptionally book-smart, but terrified of the world, probably coddled by her parents as a child. "All in all, nothing extraordinary about her," William concluded.

Amelia touched her hidden earpiece, and letting her hair fall in a curtain fall around her, smiled victoriously. It had been too easy to bug Daniel. She would have to stumble into him to retrieve it before he went home, but it was worth it.

She had fooled a Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

**So sorry for the slow updates...I got distracted with some other works :P But this should get updated regularly now!**

**The mystery is similar to the ABC Murders - I strongly encourage you to read that book!**

* * *

Sherlock analyzed the body in front of him. Charlie Caddey, wealthy business man, satisfied with the state of his marriage. Wife's death is imminent, however, and he had adequately prepared by flirting with another woman. He would not have been devastated with his wife's death. A simple stabbing, no forced entry, he knew and trusted the murderer.

This was definitely an interesting string of murders, first, Amanda Alsebury, the young nurse, was pushed off a bridge in Andover. Then, Bailey Brook, the recovering alcoholic died of a forced drug overdose in Brexhill and now this, Charlie Caddey found dead in his own home in Churston. Each time, Sherlock had received a letter signed A.B.C detailing the name and the location of the soon to be dead. He stalked around the body for the fifth time trying to gain some new knowledge about the deceased, but nothing. "Sherlock, we've already gotten a suspect in and it's looking like he's guilty. No need to continue pulling out your hair over these murders." Lestrade sighed.

Sherlock scowled, "Your idiocy, unlike your hair, has not lessened with age, I see," he spat. Lestrade, used to the insults, sighed again and rubbed at his balding scalp wistfully. "Obviously Arthur B. Cummings is being framed, his mental state is questionable, leading to him being inadequately able to defend himself. The real murderer chose a good scapegoat. But why kill go to the effort of killing A, B and C, and why send me the letters instead of the Yard?" Sherlock ruminated, pacing across the room. His son sat in the deceased's wooden chair, staring thoughtfully out the window.

"The better question is why did the third letter have a spelling mistake in the address." William murmured. Sherlock and Lestrade glanced at the young man, his eyes a million miles away. "The murderer has proven to be meticulous with regards to everything else. What makes the third case different?" William breathed in sharply, "Of course! By sending the third letter wayward, the murderer ensured that we would learn of the death well after the fact that it happened. The two murders are just a cover up for his real motive in killing Caddey."

"And he sent the letters to me instead of the Yard, to ensure there would be no police interference," Sherlock gasped.

"Toby Caddey." Sherlock and William said simultaneously.

William was instantly on his feet and flying out the front door, Sherlock hot on his heels. William had already flagged down a cab and hurriedly gave him the address of Toby Caddey. As the cab rumbled towards the estate, Sherlock and his son stared out the window, the latter tapping his foot in anticipation. Sherlock sighed. Molly would not be happy knowing their son was involved in another case, but he couldn't keep William away. And, he thought ruefully, William was a good partner, his mind was just as sharp as Sherlock's.

Another part of him yearned for a companion who complimented his flaws though. A doctor who saw the stories behind the murders while he saw the facts, whose easygoing nature allowed witnesses to open up to him while Sherlock intimidated the suspects. A strong, reliable presence at his side to counteract his rash, uncontrollable nature.

Sherlock missed John.

He shook himself out of his reverie angrily. John was gone. John had abandoned him and there was no point in living in the past.

But he had good reason to leave you. A voice taunted him, as the cab pulled in front of Toby Caddey's grand house. William was out the door and flying up the path before the cab even stopped, and Sherlock pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he threw the cabby some money and followed his eager son.

Toby Caddey opened the door to William Holmes triumphant expression. Before William could say a word, Toby was racing through the house, knocking down chairs as he ran. William and Sherlock gave the chase, although William soon pulled ahead of his father as he dashed outside and followed Toby as he raced across the estate.

William swerved past an astonished gardener and pounded into the barn, but had to jump out of the way when an unbalance stack of sheet metal slid towards him. He came up again quickly, but it was too late, Caddey was in the cockpit of his helicopter, the roof of the barn wide open.

William cried out in frustration as Toby Caddey's helicopter lifted off. The man met William's eyes and smiled victoriously. Suddenly, a dark shape hurled past William. The lithe figure leapt with astonishing agility and grabbed onto the landing skid, hoisting himself into the cockpit of the helicopter. William watched in shock as the hooded figure grappled with Caddey and the helicopter lurched to the side. Then the helicopter stabilized and William saw the hooded figure at the wheel. The helicopter rose higher into the air and veered towards the forest. Just when William thought he has lost Caddey again, the helicopter plummeted into the forest, crashing through the tress and everything went eerily silent. As William raced towards the forest, he heard his father call out behind him.

When Sherlock and the rest of the Scotland Yard arrived at the crash site, they found William looking around the edge of the new clearing, swearing under his breath, and Caddey tied up and unconscious in front of the broken helicopter.

* * *

William gave a strangled cry as the knife sunk into his side. Westley, the serial killer, leered at him, twisting the knife deeper in. "Guess, I'll be leaving another present for your daddy." He laughed as black spots danced in William's eyes. There was the sound of a single shot and William crumpled to the ground as Westley fell away from him.

"No. I believe **I** will be leaving Mr. Holmes a present."

William opened his eyes to a blinding white ceiling. Hospital. From his the foggy state of his mind, he assumed he'd been drugged up to the teeth. As his vision swam into focus, he felt someone squeeze his hand. He looked over to see his mother, red-rimmed eyes and hair a mess. "Oh darling," she sighed, "Don't you go scaring me like your father, now." At that, Sherlock swept into the room, two steaming cups of tea in his hands. Molly gratefully took one and Sherlock settled into another chair and stared at his son intently.

"What do you remember?" He rumbled.

"Sherlock! He just woke up," Molly chastised.

"No, it's alright," William muttered, "I want to know what happened too. The last thing I remember is Westley digging his knife into me and then there was a shot and everything went black."

Sherlock scowled and snapped, "Is that all?" William nodded mutely. He could feel the anger simmering off his father and some other emotion that twisted Sherlock's features into a weird cross between hope and angst. With a huff, Sherlock stood up and marched out of the room again.

"What's bothering him?" William asked his mother.

Molly smiled sadly, "Not my story to tell." And William knew it had something to do with a certain John Watson.

William had heard the tales, the whispers amongst the Yarders about the duo that had once been John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. The undefeatable team. Even he had vague memories about a short man in an oatmeal jumper that walked him and another little girl home after preschool on Fridays. But his father never said anything about John. Whenever William had asked his father, on bad days he would sneer and say something about how he was just another idiot in a world of idiots, and on good days, he would just walk away. After inquiring about all of London on a particularly slow month about the pair, William had learned that John had disappeared from London after the death of his wife and first daughter. Sherlock had been completely indifferent about it. His sources were the general public, though, and completely unreliable. However, the few who were close to Sherlock and John had refused to say anything. His mother always smiled and said, "Not my story to tell," Lestrade would just shake his head slowly and Mrs. Hudson would begin to cry about the end of a glorious era. Even Anderson and Donovan were tightlipped about it. And so William went through his life wondering about mystery that was John Watson that his father kept locked away.

Sherlock stormed out of the hospital, his thoughts whirling. This encounter seemed eerily similar to the "Study In Pink," as John had called it in his blog.

John.

His chest tightened. He knew what kind of deduction he would have made about the killer that had saved his son. "His hands mustn't have shaken at all so clearly he acclimatized to violence. He didn't fire until William was in immediate danger so obviously has a strong moral principle. You're looking for someone probably with a history of military service and nerves of steel…" Oh it was so similar. Could it be him? The stiches, so precise and done neatly even in haste, spoke of high medical skill.

Sherlock leaned against the window of the hospital, feeling his breath fog up the chilled glass. "John," he wondered, "Are you still there?"

* * *

William pressed his fingers together and leaned back in his study chair. His mind was running running running, trying to piece together the mystery person who seemed to be following him recently. First occurrence – January 27th. When has he (or she – William will not rule out the possibility that his aide is a female) revealed his presence? Three times in the last two months. Always when William is in danger or the murderer is getting away from him.

He flickered down another path. How would this person keep following him without him noticing? No way is he being shadowed 24/7, there must be something else. He thought of Uncle Mycroft bugging the flat and he got his answer. Unlikely this person has access to all the CCTV's like his uncle, but a small tracking bug, that would work. Now where would his pursuer put it? William snapped his fingers in triumph and chagrin. His shoes, of course. Even when he was in disguise, he usually wore the same shoes. His face twisted in disgust, how terribly predictable of him. He'd have to change that in the future.

Bringing the shoes up into his room, William turned them over carefully, and grinned as he picked up the tiny bug, attached by the top eye of his shoe. "Now, let's see if we can figure out who you belong to," he whispered.

* * *

**I hope that wasn't too rushed :/ But please review and let me know what you think!**


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